


The Centaur of Attention

by GQD, kageillusionz



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Centaurs, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Slow Bloomer in the Emotions Department, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, Smitten Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:11:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GQD/pseuds/GQD, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Centuries ago, centauri and men warred over everything: territory, food, women, and above all else, love. At the height of the Wars, men discovered fire and gunpowder, where centauri, in turn, mastered archery and metalwork. Desolation and destruction reigned for hundreds of years. Humans were imprisoned. Centauri were captured. Both were enslaved until those with the courage to stand up and fight for what they believed in changed the course of the world forever.</p><p>Since then, centauri and men alike have learned to co-exist. Centauri are accepted everywhere that men are, building up a society that benefits from shared knowledge. However, traditional centauri are distrustful of everything man-made and continue to live in herds across the planet, preferring to live off the earth and hunt for their food. It is their way of life and it is one that is slowly dying out as the young seek opportunities in the built great cities.</p><p>This is the tale of Erik, leader of the Lehnsherr herd, navigating the pitfalls of modern day as he learns how to become a sociable centaur in order to woo his beloved Doctor Charles Xavier after a fateful meeting brings them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Centaur of Attention

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [The Centaur of Attention 意中之人](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808138) by [Analgisia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Analgisia/pseuds/Analgisia)



> **Art Masterpost:** [Here](http://garnetquyen.tumblr.com/post/88993261740/the-centaur-of-attention-by-kageillusionz-art-by)!  
>  Thanks and translations at the bottom.  
>  **Warning** for centaur on centaur sex/beastiality.
> 
>  **Centauri Terminology:**  
>  **Foal:** Centaur babies. Teeny tiny unable to communicate wibbly babies.  
>  **Yearling:** The toddler stage. Centaurs who are no longer dependent on their mother for nourishment.  
>  **Filly/Colt:** The teen years where they are wild and rebellious, and aren’t mature yet.  
>  **Mare/Stallion:** The adults of the herd. Some have yet to still mature.  
>  **Venator:** Latin for Hunter. A rank that signifies a centaur as a hunter and provider of the herd. It is recognized across all the Traditional Herds.  
>  **Ponte:** Latin for Bridge. The bridge that leads the dead to the Vallus.  
>  **Vallus:** Latin for Valley. The mythological valley where good centauri go in their afterlife. Similar to Heaven.  
>  **Mortem:** Latin for Death. The mythological mountain where bad centauri go in their afterlife. Similar to Hell.  
>  **Pegasii:** Plural of Pegasus. Only the most exceptional of centauris gain wings in the Vallus and become Pegasii. Similar to Angels.  
>  **Terra:** The Earth.  
>  **Bestia:** The centauri equivalent for the bogeyman.

 

 

The rain falls around him in a wet haze, clinging to leaves, branches and flowers on the way down. The moisture seeps into the bark of the trees, falling off the tips of leaves and sliding down in lazy rivulets over tanned skin. The water caresses the blood red lines of his tattoo that twists over the broad expanse of his shoulders, tracing the upper rim of his scapula, until the path splits into twin patterned bands that encircle his biceps.

A droplet runs down the valley of his taut shoulderblades, gathering speed as its brethren join, until their progress is impeded by the midnight black coat that covers his lower horse half.

The leader of the Lehnsherr herd waits amongst the damp. He stands with his bow poised, the bowstring taut and anchored in wait.

He keeps his pale gaze steady, waiting for any shift in shadow. His focus is honed to a fine point, like the tip of the sharp arrow nocked into the bowstring, bow arched and held at the ready cushioned by the calluses on his fingers.

Long since were the days of him joining the ranks of the Venator; Erik has had plenty of time and practise in tuning out his environment. To ignore the sad, wet state of the drooping ferns, the curling mists that tease at his hooves, and the world at large in shades of blue and grey.

He breathes in and then out, lungfuls of petrichor — the scent of earth and rain that curls around his tongue and tangible to his senses — keeps him calm and relaxed.

The rabbit springs out from the undergrowth, right into the path of his loosened arrow. It squeals out a dying sound, twitching for a long beat before stilling.

Erik lowers the bow and exhales the breath he had been holding. Awareness slowly seeps back into his consciousness. The hair on his arms prickle as a slight wind caresses cold fingers over his skin. It is gone as quickly as it had come, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

He picks his way through the underbrush and kneels down on to the spongy moss, casting his bow aside by his prey. The rabbit is plump, body heat leaching from its prone form into the earth. Erik grasps the arrow by the base and twists it free. Stowing his prey into the leather bag slung around his hips next to three of its fallen brethren, he gives the arrow tip a rudimentary wipe on the moss and replaces it into his quiver.

With the onset of winter, the days become shorter, the nights colder, and the grounds slippery. The weather is as capricious as it is often wont to be and Erik rubs his hands together, futilely generating warmth to fend off the cold that cling to his frozen fingertips. _It's high time to head home_ , he thinks as he squints up at the darkening sky not wanting accidentally slip thanks to a wrong foothold.

Unlike the great roads and highways that the city dwellers utilize, the forest is not equipped with lightfires to illuminate the path home. Erik makes the executive decision to skirt around the edges of the forest, taking advantage of the city dwellers’ inventions. He keeps a wary eye on the death contraptions known as cars that speed by.

 _Humans and city centauri_ , Erik sniffs disdainfully. Crafty on both ends, incredibly soft around the middle, and then filled to the brim with dangerous ideas. A recipe for disaster.

The sky rumbles ominously overhead. _Great_ , Erik thinks spitefully when he squints up at the grey clouds. _Even the sky is rebelling against my cause_.

The loud blare of a horn from a passing truck causes Erik's steps to falter and he crashes through some bushes into the light with an unfriendly word. _Humans and their addiction to speed,_ he grumbles. Their flaws come from their bipedal nature and their inability to be content with the speeds achieved by foot. He visibly shakes himself, trying his best to not jump out of his skin when machines of death roar by.

 _Why must they attempt to best the Deities?_ Erik thinks darkly. Why must they play at being a Deity themselves? Do they not feel any shame that they must rely upon mechanical means in order to travel from one place to another? The speeds he can achieve on his own four hooves — now that is a feat that Erik takes pride in, being in his prime now — for it rivals and bests any of the city dwellers' inventions.

The loud squealing of brakes and another horn pulls Erik from his internal monologue. But by then it is already too late. Erik gasps when something barrels into him, sending him flying towards the wet grit. His legs buckle underneath him and then he falls upon his side like a tree felled in a forest. Pain lances up his spine, wildfire spreading in all directions that almost makes time stand still with the intensity of the agony, almost blocking out all sensory input except for the loud roar of blood in his ears.

There’s the sound of a door slamming, the heavy clip-clopping of hooves skittering over loose rock, and then panicked shouting. He can’t make out the face, visioned blurred. But there’s the undeniable scent of blood, lingering in the air that Erik believes he can almost taste the smell and gags upon it.

He groans as he tests the movement of his arms, scrubbing at the droplets of water on his face and forces his eyes to open, to stay conscious for as long as it takes to get up and get home back to the herd.

 _This is nothing_ , Erik thinks with a false bravado that doesn’t trick the panic in his stomach away. His mother Edie is the herd doctor. She’ll know what to do about the lancing pain in his hind leg.

It’s an upward battle as his vision swims in and out of focus, a battle seeded with frustration when Erik registers how uncooperative his legs are. The pain there is now a deep-seated throb, one that Erik can deal with as opposed to the slicing pain in his leg earlier. Trying to move his hindlegs turns out to be the worst idea ever, leaving Erik gasping for air as cold sweat breaks out.

Long moments pass until the roar in his ears die down enough and faintly he realises that the somebody had been talking to him that entire time.

“...Sorry. I’m so sorry. The paramedics are on their way. Help is coming. Please don’t die...”

Erik grunts, winded, and gives up the struggle to get back onto his hooves. He can feel the sticky blood matted into the hair on his leg and lays down in defeat, cold crystals forming in the pits of his stomach.

His eyelids close on their own volition.

“No, no no. You have to stay awake!”

Erik tries to resist, he really does. But he can no longer ignore the siren call of darkness and slips into unconsciousness. The voice is getting softer by the second, muffled in his mind until he can’t make out any of the sounds that form cohesive words.

He can’t feel his legs.

 

 

* * *

Erik feels like he’s drowning at the bottom of a lake. He’s desperately clawing at the water, legs kicking sluggishly, desperately upwards to break the still surface but always just out of reach.

When he finally wakes up, it is with a spike in his heartbeat and him gasping for air. His hands are fisted into sheets of the bed he’s resting on. The room is unfamiliar, the ceiling white as a cloud, the paint on the walls a periwinkle blue, and the air tinged with something lemony and sweet. Erik likes lemons, especially when baked into honey lemon cake; the Pryde herd is famous for their baking prowess.

Erik is on his side, facing a window. There are blinds there, filtering bright light from the outside. He can’t see any of the outside though from his vantage point.

Had he died?

Perhaps he has crossed the Ponte into the abundant lands of the Vallus, the beautiful place where good centauri belong. Erik figures the decor in the Mortem — if he did end up there for being a non-believer — would be a little, well, more doom and gloom in shades of charcoal and destruction. Perhaps Erik will be able to find his father amongst the members of the Vallus.

The door opens, rattling within its frames. He hadn’t been aware the Vallus required doors; at least the Vallus in his imagination hadn’t. Then again, Erik supposes blinds wouldn’t be blocking the view of the Vallus’ beautiful green grass, golden sunshine and fluffy white clouds.

There is the clean sound of clip-clopping hooves rounding the end of the cloud like bed he's resting on. No doubt a pegasii or centaur then.

“Oh! You’re awake.”

 _Deities above_ , Erik thinks when a centaur with luminous blue eyes and the reddest mouth he's ever seen walks into his line of sight. He is a beautiful bay with four black legs and a thick dark tail. Erik’s own tail gives a mighty twitch of interest.

A tiny part of his mind crossed its arms. _I thought you didn't like bays_ , it accuses him all high and mighty. _I thought you didn't even like_ stallions. _Hell I thought you didn’t like anyone with a British accent._

The rest of Erik, that is the larger majority who had eyes, revolted and casually pretended that tiny part didn't exist. _If bays look like that_ , this bigger sector begins with a leer, _they are more than fine in our book. Stallions are also definitely good by us. Wow. If only he isn't covered by clothes._

A long white coat sits on top of a dark navy woollen cardigan, and a white buttoned shirt hiding the rest of the stallion from Erik’s hungry eyes. Clothes are, in Erik's opinion, only required during the coldest days of winter and had no business being present in Vallus like they were in the cities.

"My name is Dr. Charles Xavier," he introduces himself with a smile. "I've been assigned to your case. Please don’t get up on my account. Do you remember your name or know where you are?"

He blinks at that beautiful accent. It's not at all like any other Erik's heard before. _Deities above_ , that large majority of his mind breathes. _Colour me sold_ , the tiny resisting part of his mind agrees.   _And close your mouth, Erik. You look ridiculous._

"Erik." His tongue fumbles clumsily over the syllables. His mind too caught up by the appearance of Dr. Charles Xavier. "And... this is the Vallus, is it not? I have never seen such an exquisite creature as yourself in all the years I had roamed theTerra when I had been alive."

It is Dr. Xavier's turn to look surprised, although it is quickly eased away from his face. "The Vallus? I think you must be mistaken, Erik. And I'd hate to be the bearer of such bad news—" Dr. Xavier's lips quirk upwards in a teasing smile. It has no business being so attractive. "—but you're perfectly well... I say 'well' in the sense that you're very much alive. But not quite well well.

“I'm an orthopaedic surgeon here at St Mary’s Hospital and I specialize in centauri cases. Do you remember how you arrived, Erik?"

 

 

Erik shakes his head, watching the way Dr. Xavier makes notes on the wooden board in his hand.

"What's the last thing that you remember?"

His eyebrows knit together. "I was heading home after my hunt. It was wet and dark. I was walking along the road with the cars and the bigger transportation boxes since there is light there. I remember something coming out of nowhere and crashing into my leg—"

At the mention of his leg, Erik struggles against his pillows to look down at his hind legs. The left one is wrapped in a white mass of thick bandages and held aloft in a sling. How had it taken him this long to realize that his leg is making him look ridiculous in front of Doctor Charles Xavier?

 _You have your priorities straight_ , that small part of his mind quips up, disgusted that Erik is more interested in attracting the Doctor as opposed to interests regarding self-preservation.

 _Shut up_ , the larger shallower part growls. _Mama is not going to be happy when she hears about this_. His gut recoils in of itself just thinking about it.

Erik demands, "what happened to me when I was out?"

Doctor Xavier provides Erik with the gory details of his ordeal. They had taken Erik into surgery and scrubbed out all the grit in his wounds, fixed up the mess in his left leg, dressed the wound, and the cast — the white mass of bandages around Erik’s leg — would have to stay on for 8 weeks.

“Oh.”

“Do you have any questions?”

 _Many_ , Erik thinks quietly to himself. The first and foremost on his mind is whether Dr. Xavier would be happy to become a part of the Lehnsherr herd as his mate, but unable to find the words. At least Erik ought to woo and find out where Dr. Xavier's proclivities lay before pouncing the question on him.

 _Dr. Xavier would look so beautiful bearing his children,_ comments a part of his mind. The other parts are quick to agree with that statement.

He’s so deep in his fantasy that he doesn’t realize Dr. Xavier is running his hands all over the length of his forelegs. Erik coughs, hoping Dr. Xavier doesn’t notice the sudden flush of his skin when he replaces the blankets draped over his body.

“Everything seems to be in working order here.”

And then Erik realises with dread how the city dwellers work. “I don’t have any of the currency you utilize.” He clamps down on the fear that perhaps after he’s all healed up, the city dwellers would somehow make him work off all the expenses. “I won’t be able to pay...”

Dr. Xavier moves closer to stand by his bedside, just the right distance away that it doesn’t strain Erik’s neck to look at him. (Not that it would have been any hardship to endure if Dr. Xavier had moved close enough for Erik to scent him).

“We take care of our own. A recent law had been passed by Health Minister Shaw gives free healthcare to those that require it. Humans and centauri alike.” Dr. Xavier runs a hand through his floppy brown hair. Erik wonders if he’s imagining the blush on his cheeks. “And that includes the, well, more traditional centaurs like yourself. I could never do it, you know, living off the land as you do. I find it truly remarkable and...”

Erik doesn’t hear much else of what Dr. Xavier says next about the government covering all costs. His mind is stuck on the fact that he had been called _remarkable_.

"I’ll also have someone get in contact with your family. We found a phone number in your bag with the rabbits — we’ve kept those in the freezer for you in a container.” The wooden board is slotted into a compartment at the end of Erik’s bed, out of sight, and Dr. Xavier slots his pen back into place into the chest pocket of his white overcoat.

“Just as long as you’re the one doing the talking and not me,” Erik replies weakly. He winces just thinking about the earful he’s going to receive once Edie drives down to visit.

Dr. Xavier smiles and reaches out to squeeze his shoulder.

“I want you to rest as much as possible. No walking. No physical exertion. Just rest. Don’t move your leg if you can help it. I’ll be back to check on you later, Erik.” And with that Charles disappears out the door he had come in.

Erik’s shoulder tingles for hours after.

 

 

* * *

By the end of his stay, Erik still had no conclusive evidence on whether Dr. Xavier is interested in becoming his mate. To stand by his side at the head of the Lehnsherr herd.

He had tried everything he could think of to show his intent: tail flicking, neck arching, making sure his muscles rippled in the light for Dr. Xavier’s perusal whenever he stopped by. Erik even surreptitiously conducted reconnaissance by interrogating the more... amenable of the nurses (read: regale his more heroic tales of grandeur).

But to no avail.

All the signs Erik picked up from observing the herd were rubbish and ineffective.

Not all that surprising given that Dr. Xavier belongs to a modern society. Erik figures the old ways are somewhat lost in translation and he needs to learn new ways.

And what better way than the magic box in the corner: the tele-venison. The nurses had kindly shown him how the magic worked and Erik gleefully did his research. Composing love poetry is a no go; Erik’s handwriting is atrocious at best and illegible at worst for the centauri herds didn’t have much use for writing. There were also the box of chocolates that tended to drive the human females wild with happiness. And then there had been the series about the mare who had showered her mare lover with flowers.

Erik glowers sullenly at his cast. He wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon and so settles for grumpily sleeping.

On the final day of Erik’s hospital stay, Dr. Xavier walks in bright and early. “Are you happy to go home?” he asks with a bright grin on his face that matches the equally bright strip of cloth looped around his neck: little orange and white dogs with tiny legs and lolling pink tongues run all over the emerald green grass.

He’s sans the wooden clipboard today, replaced by a centaur-sized wheeled contraption.

“I… yes.” Erik begrudgingly agrees. If only Dr. Xavier were the one to drive and take him home. A completely rational thought; Erik wouldn’t feel any remorse for denying the rest of his patients of his care.

“I met your mother earlier in the lobby when I passed along your possessions to her. She’s a lovely mare. I’ll pop you into this wheelchair and wheel you down to meet her.”

Erik is quiet on the journey down the moving platform — this is an elevator, Erik — and he’s thankful that the interior door of the elevator is shiny. It provides him a reflective surface and Erik surreptitiously steals glances at Dr. Xavier’s form.

 _He’s beautiful_ , Erik thinks not for the hundredth time in his stay. Truly he has been blessed by the Deities. Surely, the car ramming into his side that had broken his left hind leg had been a sign from them. A clear ‘This is your mate!’ from the Deities.

And now it would be the last time that he’d see Dr. Xavier’s beautiful bay coat that shone golden like that of a day’s sunrise. His luscious thick hair is the colour of chocolate, and his eyes sparkly like twin pools of clean blue water.

 _Maybe_ , Erik thinks forlornly as Dr. Xavier waves goodbye and his Mama wheels him into the hospital parking lot, _maybe I’m not so terrible at that love poetry thing after all._

 

 

* * *

It only takes Erik a month to wind up in hospital again. Desperate times calling for desperate measures. And if matters of the heart weren’t desperate, then being minorly dinged by yet another death contraption would have all been for naught.

 

 

* * *

“We must stop meeting under these conditions,” Dr. Xavier chides upon seeing Erik lying on the gurney when he enters the room. “But I am glad to see you again, Erik.”

Erik’s heart does a funny little flip inside his chest cavity at Dr. Xavier’s words. _Dr. Xavier is glad to see us!_ the large portion of his mind giggled like a silly little foal.

 _Yes well, we also got hit again, didn’t we? Not the most sound of plans if you ask me._ said the snide part of his mind called ‘Self-Preservation’.

 _No one asked you,_ sniffs the giggling sector haughtily.

His heart seizes a beat later once his brain catches up with his mouth. What he had meant to say is a heartfelt ‘Me too, Dr. Xavier.’ Instead, Erik confesses: “Getting hit by that car was how I could see you again.”

He’s not embarrassed by his words. Being direct is, in Erik’s humble opinion, best. Now at least Dr. Xavier is aware of his intentions.

Dr. Xavier’s eyes are wide, jaw hanging low as if Erik had just struck him a blow. The fact that his black-rimmed glasses are slipping off the end of his nose makes him appear all the more dumbstruck. “This is not how— What did you just say?”

In hindsight, Erik realises how someone could misconstrue his words. In fact, it might be called a little bit creepy.

He drags his tongue over his dry lips, and instills as much confidence and conviction befitting the leader of the Lehnsherr herd into his words as he could. "I said, being hit by a car was the only way that I could see you again."

In the month apart, Erik still hadn’t gotten the grasp of modern courtship. The ‘advice’ novels that his sister Ruthie had loaned him had been no help at all, challenging as the words had been. Erik ha never felt romantically inclined to anyone, not since that small crush he had harboured on that older filly when he had been but a colt himself, and that hadn’t ended very well for either of them.

“And why did you want to see me again, Erik?”

Erik resolutely doesn’t look at Dr. Xavier. He’d been teased endlessly by Ruthie for his lack of knowledge in this particular department (despite it being sweet that, in Ruthie’s eyes, he is incredibly taken and smitten by Dr. Xavier.)

“Erik?”

If his life were a part of this one daytime show Erik had been avidly following on the tele-venison, this would be the opportune time for his love interest to avidly confess all of their feelings. The love interest, in this case, is a very flushed Erik.

“I…” Erik swallows, suddenly all a flutter with nerves.

“What could it possibly be that you would have willingly put yourself at risk? Is it something to do with your leg? Your healing one that is—”

“— it was a very _minor_ dinging—”

“— not the one that you recently hurt to come back—”

“— and I’m a strong healthy stallion. Something like that just doesn’t faze me—”

“— in order to see _me_ of all people—”

“Dr. Xavier!”

“Please, we’ve gotten so far, call me Charles.”

“Oh.” Erik scrunches up his nose. “Would that be appropriate given your proper title?”

Charles looks bemused. “I’ve given you permission so that’s okay.”

“Okay... Charles.” Erik swishes the syllable around in his mouth like fine wine, tasting it for the very first time (with Charles present that is. It’s embarrassing how often Erik has giggled like a 12 year old and their first crush in the presence of woodland creatures. He’s a bit of a late bloomer in the emotions department.)

“Charles.” Erik takes a deep breath in, steeling his courage and the pounding in his chest flutters quickly like the rabbits he hunts for food. “I— I wish to c-court you.”

The medical chart in Charles’ hands drops to the floor with a loud clatter. His fingers as slack as his jaw.

Well, Erik thinks trying his hardest to not wring his fingers nervously. His feelings are all out in the open now and the weapon is in Charles’ hands, in his words.

For every second that Charles doesn’t reply, Erik’s worries increase. Worries that perhaps this had been a tactical mistake. Worries that he misread the signs and Charles already had a significant other.

Perhaps Erik had misjudged Charles’ resolve for interpersonal relationships. Sort of like Uncle Erich who, despite not being a part of the Venator and his namesake, would still blush to high heavens when it came to talking about the love of his life.

He crushes the urge to squirm uncomfortably on Charles’ examination table.

Tentatively, he tries to explain himself. “You were unresponsive to my attempts at courtship the last time I was in hospital. I assumed it was because the planets weren’t in alignment or perhaps it is that you find me unattractive as a prospective mate—”

“No!” Charles blurts out. His hands fly up to cup over his mouth in surprise from the way his eyes widen.

Erik blinks.

“Charles. I’m— I need you to speak frankly. Are you saying...?”

Dropping his hands from his face, Charles clears his throat. His cheeks are a delightful red colour. “What I meant to say is,” Charles does his utmost to not look Erik in the eye, “is that i-if you wanted to see me again, you only had to ask. I would have given you my number.”

That must be colloquial for ‘Yes! I would be honoured to be your mate!’. That is excellent. Exceptional even.

“So you are amenable to being courted?”

“Yes.” Charles mutters as he fiddles with the metal instrument at his chest in an attempt to look busy. “Woo away.”

The grin on Erik’s face grows impossibly wider. This time it’s the victorious song his heart pumps around his body, and the sudden spike of something delicious smelling in the air. It’s the answering swish of Charles’ tail and the shy smile he receives that is seared into the back of his retinas.

“But next time, when you want to see me, please don’t get hurt on my behalf!”

 

 

* * *

Charles shows up like clockwork at the end of each shift to visit Erik. Sometimes, he regales the most interesting case he worked on during the day. Other times it is to sit through Erik’s favourite tele-venison programme.

He shows up on the last night of Erik’s stay with a gift: a pre-paid phone. And on that phone is Charles’ number already pre-programmed into it.

“It’s nothing fancy like what Cassidy Tech has come up with…” Charles explains, turning the phone back screen side up on the movable table by Erik’s bedside. “But for the simple things like call and text, it will do fine. I’ve been told by the very lovely mare at the phone store that this is the best plan and ought to have coverage in remote areas.”

Erik pokes and prods at the plastic buttons. He’s rightfully distrustful of the piece of plastic as  the entire thing buzzes in an alarming, but not at all intimidating, manner. And above all else, Erik does not yelp.

“It’s trying to kill me, Charles!”

Charles, perching on the side of Erik’s bed, slaps his wrist gently away before Erik can accidentally call someone he hadn’t meant to. The cellphone’s instruction manual is in hand as Charles dials on through to activate everything.

“It’s not trying to kill you,” Charles explains patiently with an eye-roll. “You’re just pressing the number pad. It does that. Nothing to be alarmed of.”

“Why does it do that?”

“I suppose so that you know when you’ve pressed a button. A technical detail that’s been lost ever since touchscreens have been implemented.” Charles frowns down at the Nokia in hand. “Not that this is a touch screen. The mare thought it be best that we start simple and work our way up.”

Erik feels rightly lost by all of the words coming out of Charles’ mouth, having lost the thread of conversation long ago. To be fair, he’s distracted.

This new feeling of discovery makes him feel like a young foal learning the ways of the herd again and marvelling over every little detail. Life back then had been full of discovery and excitement. Like the time when Edie had returned from a trip into the town with a bag of chocolate chip cookies for the herd. That little bag of the Vallus had been the beginning of Erik’s walk down the destructive path that is his addiction to baked goods.

Having Charles so near is a newfound intimacy that thrills Erik to no end and a stallion’s attention span is only so long.

 _City centauri are far too trusting,_ one part of Erik’s brain observes, unable to keep up with Charles’ enthusiastic explanation of an ‘app’. _What if someone were to want to take advantage of him?/i >_

 _We should probably dissuage him of that particular trait. Not all of the herd members are as kind as us,_ quips another part with a sage nod. _We ought to instill a healthy sense of paranoia in him lest someone attempts to hurt him._

 _Yes!_ the first part agrees, shaking hands firmly with the other. _Constant vigilance is a healthy thing to nurture!_

Erik wisely doesn’t listen to neither part of his brain. Instead, he is busy battling the urge to touch Charles. To conduct an experiment and test the boundaries for himself. Whether touching Charles in certain areas, in certain ways, is socially acceptable. Erik is never one to ask, instead he opts to experience things first hand. Results on Erik’s tried and tested method varied.

Testing the waters, Erik sneaks his hand out from underneath the scratchy hospital blanket and scoots it over the pristine white bedsheets until his fingertips brush over the nearest part of Charles. When Charles doesn’t lose any steam in his talk about the advantages and disadvantages of something called ‘Bing’ and ‘Google’, Erik runs the finger lightly over a patch of bay hair.

Charles’ coat is just as soft as Erik imagined. And soon Erik is tracing nonsensical pictures into the patch, his canvas growing with each dip and trace of his finger. It mustn’t have been improper for Erik to touch him there since Charles keeps talking.

Erik files this important piece of knowledge away, under: ‘Places that is okay to touch, and wouldn’t mind touching some more.’

“I _can_ tell you weren’t paying attention, you know,” Charles says wryly as he gestures at Erik’s hand on his lower shoulder.

Erik raises both his eyebrows. “What are you? Some kind of mind-reader?”

“No. The term is telepath,” Charles says. He takes a long pause, biting down on his lower lip. At Erik's perplexed look,  he quickly amends, “I am only joking. There's no such thing as telepaths. Not unless you were interested in the comic series about the X-centaurs."

“I am if you are. Although you will have to explain what a comic is.”

Charles gives Erik an indulgent look. “Sometimes I forget just what a clash it is between our two societies. We’ll tackle it together one thing at a time. Phones first, comics later.”

“You were saying that this phone would allow me to use the magic to call you whenever I want?” Erik asked.

“It’s not magic,” Charles replied; Erik still hadn’t gotten the full grasp of electricity yet and radio waves that can’t be seen by the naked eye. “But essentially yes. I’m glad you have a firm grasp of retaining the more relevant information. You will need electricity to keep the phone charged otherwise it won’t turn on.”

“Like the devil’s box that turns the tele-venison on?”

“That’s called a remote. And it’s tele _vision_ , not a tele-venison — I’m not sure how comfortable I am thinking of deer providing entertainment to the masses yet. Both the remote and the television run on electricity, so you’re half right.”

Erik nodded. “So both the television and the ree-moat run on this elec-treaty.”

“Yes.”

Erik hums, taking up tracing nonsensical patterns again into Charles’ coat. The city centauri had a habit of keeping their horse hair short, unlike the shaggier and warmer coats of Erik’s kin. _I’d like to see Charles with a traditional Lehnsherr herd clipping pattern in his coat_ , Erik thinks a little wistfully. _Just like the fact I’d like to see the Lehnsherr bands tattooed around Charles’ biceps._ (Biceps that Erik has seen numerous times in his imagination but there is something about reality sometimes being better? Erik could never remember the saying).

“If you still have problems with your phone, I’m sure Edie will be able to sort you out. Now pay attention, Erik. This is how you make a call.”

 

 

* * *

The hospital stay this time around go by much quicker and soon Erik is reunited with his favourite human physical therapist, Dr.Henry (“Please call me, Hank”) McCoy and rehabilitation. Dr.Hank is a twitchy, young thing. Had Dr.Hank been a centauri attempting to do the Venator Trials, Logan, the old nomadic centaur, would have eaten him for breakfast before it could even begin.

Although centauri have a height advantage over the humans, Hank himself is tall for a human and would have been around eye-height were Erik standing. He is also one Charles’ friends, a fact that greatly helped smooth out Erik’s initial distrust of him the first time around.

This time around Erik is fashioned into a wheelchair that’s designed to keep his hindlegs off the ground.

He looks ridiculous. But Charles walks alongside the wheelchair, so it is a burden that Erik will happily bear.

 

 

* * *

“Your plan,” Ruthie says that night when Erik returns in his brand new wheelchair, “was a stupid plan, little brother.” She is busy cleaning the dishes from dinner.

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” Erik retorts, stifling the urge to stick his tongue out as he dries the dishes. It is hard not to fight with her when she is being so rude.

Uncle Erich laughs from his position at the head of the table, his fingers fiddling with his latest project with a spanner. There’s a pipe in his mouth, nestled in a fantastic auburn beard. Although not a part of the Venator, Uncle Erich is the herd’s resident mechanic and Erik’s favourite uncle.

Edie next to him tuts at her children as she crochets a beanie in deep navy blue yarn. "We know what it was like to be in love," she says, "you were much the same when you met Heim. And now look at you, proud mother of my two darling grandcolts." Edie sighs wistfully, an unsubtle jibe at wanting more grandfoals; Erik and Ruthie share an exasperated look.

At the mention of her family, Ruthie scowls and takes to childishly throwing dish soap at Erik. The Springtime of her Youth, Ruthie likes to reminisce. A time when she had co-ordinated the herd’s Venator before she became too rotund to make it far outside to hunt.

The sound of Charles’ ringtone saves her from a fate worse than dishtowel whipping. Erik nearly breaks the plate he’d been drying to snatch his phone up right away, the wheels of his wheelchair squeaking under duress.

“Is that the stallion of your dreams calling?” Ruthie asks, laughing. “Oh Charles~ Thank you for calling Charles~ I’ve been missing you so very much, Charles~”

It’s only funny because it’s absolutely true. “Shut up, you mule!” Erik leaves with a parting shot, phone grasped tightly in hand. He wheels himself out of the kitchen and into his room, cursing his wheels for getting stuck against the doorway.

His thumb accepts the call and Erik shouts, “Charles! Don’t hang up! My wheel’s stuck...” Charles’ voice isn’t loud enough for Erik to hear the reply. It is the work of a moment to free himself and close the door behind him.

His room is a simple room. There are shelves made out of wood lined with bird feathers and a collection of polished river pebbles that Erik likes to collect. Hanging on a hook by the door is his hunting satchel, along with his bow and quiver. A large hammock takes up the majority of the leftover space.

“Give me a bit more time, I need to just...“ He places the phone into the hammock and gingerly squirms into it, grumbling as his braid smacks him in the face. The wheelchair wouldn’t have known that Erik is in actual fact a majestic creature. It watches him wrestle with his blanket with a loud curse, fumbling to find his phone caught underneath his body.

“... Erik? Is everything alright? You sound out of breath.” Even through the phone, Charles manages to sound concerned. Given Erik’s track record about his well-being, it isn’t difficult to see why he would be.

“Yes. I just—” Erik pauses, nudging the wheelchair with a front leg. “The wheel got stuck.”

“The wheel got stuck?” Charles asks, incredulously. “Are you alright? You aren’t hurt are you?”

“I am much better now that you have called. Anyway. How are you? How was your day?” The hammock sways as he makes himself comfortable.

“Busy and tiring. Centauri and humans alike are always getting themselves into accidents.” Charles’ voice lowers, “No silly centauri getting hurt to see me though.”

“There better not be,” Erik growls feeling awfully territorial of his technique.

Charles laughter is light, tinkling clearly like Uncle Erich’s wind chimes hanging outside from the roof of the verandah. “That only works once on me, I’m afraid. Only one silly centauri for me.”

“Good. I hoped you would get the message the second time around. I might run out of legs otherwise,” Erik teases, reaching a hand down to scratch at his lower shoulder.

“Hey! If you keep teasing me, I’ll tell you about the double total hip replacement I had to perform on an elderly lady today.” The way Charles says makes it sound like a punishment. The smile twitches into a wide grin. He tells Charles as much. “Then so be it!”

Phonecalls, Erik deems, are a pleasant means of communication made all the more better as a result of Charles’ soothing tones. Naturally, Erik had no idea what or where exactly ‘ultra highly cross-linked polyethylene’ should be used, but it’s wonderful listening to Charles no matter the topic.

 _Honestly, Erik. Should we be worried as to how quickly you’ve fallen for this doctor?_ the more paranoid part of Erik’s mind asks. _What if he has terrible intentions?_

 _Really? We’re doing this now? You always trust your gut instincts!_ the (larger) smitten part of Erik’s mind retorts. _And you did choose Charles out of all the centauri that you could have been with. Out of all the interested and available herd members, you go and pick the first city centauri you meet? And you hurt yourself again to gain his attention. Honestly Erik—_

“Erik?”

“Yes, Charles?” Erik watches as the wind chime on his window spins slowly.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?”

Erik is wryly amused at the concern. “It’s been a day, Charles! What sort of damage could I do?” The noise that Charles makes makes Erik grumble and append, “I haven’t hurt myself any more than I have already. I’m fine, Charles.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.I want to see you soon.” Erik felt something deep in his stomach flutter excitedly at the prospect of seeing Charles again. At Charles _wanting_ to see him so soon!

“I can drive up and pick you up on my day off, we can go have lunch? Does that sound good?”

Erik’s cheek muscles hurt from the force of his grin. He picks at his blanket and throws it over his dark flank. “That sounds really good. I only wish I would be able to have walked around for our first date.”

Charles makes a noise of disbelief. “You are incredible. You understand the concept of dating and yet other things like cellphones baffle you? Clearly I like you for you, and not just for your legs.”

“I’m special,” Erik primly informs Charles. He lets out a mighty yawn and scrubs at his eyes with the meaty part of his palm. As always, without fail, he gets sleepy after an excellent meal.

“Oh! I should let you get some rest.” A small noise of complaint escapes his throat. “Rest is important too. I’m sure you’ll be going stir crazy before long. I should actually go eat something. I’m starving...”

“Who’s the one that also needs to take care of himself now? Eating is important!”

The laugh he’s rewarded with is a beautiful wind chime tinkle to his ears. “Fine, fine. I get your point. As your doctor, I want you to get plenty of rest.”

“And as my mate," and how Erik hopes that will be the case someday, "what would you say?”

“I’m not your mate yet! But most likely the same thing! I hope you’re getting ready for sleep. If it hurts, take some painkillers”

Erik pouts. “It doesn’t hurt.” And even if it did, Erik is a subscriber to the ‘grin and bear it’ way of life.

“Right, right. Of course not,” Charles scoffs. “I’ll speak to you soon.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you like, I’ll call at the end of my shift again, yes?”

“That sounds agreeable to me. Goodnight, Charles.”

“Goodnight, Erik. Sweet dreams.”

Erik takes Charles’ words to heart and dreams of running through a meadow with Charles underneath the warmth of golden sunbeams that night.

 

 

* * *

Erik is a creature of habit and as such wakes up with the sun. Usually he'd be out the door and making his rounds of the perimeter with the rest of the Venator, but his wheelchair makes that a little difficult. Instead he allows himself a little lie in; the herd is safe with the others already on patrol.

He levers himself out of bed, grumbling as he settles his belly onto the sling part of his wheelchair designed to keep his hind legs off the ground. It handles his weight surprisingly well and Erik has to admit that perhaps modern day contraptions, select few as they are, weren’t all bad.

For one thing, Erik is extremely grateful for the invention of the coffee machine.

Erik casts a forlorn look at his bow that hangs by the door before following his nose to the kitchen. It will be some time before it gets any use.

His uncle is up already, munching on a chocolate chip cookie. There’s a steaming cup of coffee on the table next to a half finished something or rather. Erich, upon seeing his nephew wheel in, goes to pours a second cup.

“G’morning.”

"Morning," his uncle replies with a yawn as he joins Erik at the table, "we don't usually see you at this hour. How'd you sleep? Alright with your legs?"

"Well enough. Thanks." Erik squints up, bleary-eyed, as the cup is set in front of him. He’s had plenty of time to figure out a ritual for himself now that his day isn’t spent hunting. In fact, Erik finds he has learnt more about his herd and the dynamics within it in the past fortnight than he has his entire life just by interacting with the herd.

Since then, he’s developed a newfound respect for everyone — not just to those that are a part of the Venator — but to all the foals, the fillies and the colts, and the mares and stallions that Erik had sworn to protect in his father’s stead.

“Did you re-braid your hair for this occasion?”

Erik instinctively reaches up to tug at the end of the beaded leather band that keeps his braid together. “You can tell?”

Erich rolls his eyes. “Of course, Erik. I have eyes you know. You’re using the darker band that you keep only for special occasions and the feathers you’re using are different today. Eagle, if my eyes aren’t deceiving me. When is your Charles coming to pick you up?”

“Around lunch-time.”

Erik’s entire body sings at the acknowledgement that Charles is now _his_ Charles. He picks up his cup and takes a satisfying sip, wondering how Charles takes his coffee. He probably doesn’t even drink coffee, Erik reasons. Charles’ accent is British (or so the tele-venison had told him) and Erik figures he’s predispositioned to drink tea with too much cream and sugar. Erik’s willing to bet his bow on it.

“I see,” Erich comments with a sly grin. “What was that saying again… ‘wie ein Honigkuchenpferd freuen’. That’s what you remind me of right now.”

“What?” Erik frowns as his brain scrambles to put meaning behind his uncle’s words. “ ‘To be happy like a honey cake horse’?”

“Highly appropriate don’t you think considering you love honey lemon cakes so much?”

Erik is aghast. “Are you implying Charles is a honey lemon cake? Why I would— I would never eat Charles! That is awful and not to mention potentially messy...” Messy in a blood way not a something else way.

From over the top of his own mug, Erich grins. “Na, dann sei aber vorsichtig, wenn du an ihm naschst.”

His entire face flares up at that and he quickly downs the rest of his coffee. They hadn’t even made it to one date yet and yet here his uncle is making such overtures.

Erik spends most of the morning being utterly useless. By now, the entire herd knew of Erik’s new love. They were excited to eventually meet and see Charles for themselves. How Erik managed to maintain his respect as leader of the Lehnsherr herd will forever be a mystery to him. Especially given Ruthie and uncle Erich’s propensity to ruin his image at every given opportunity whenever possible, he wouldn’t be surprised if the herd started calling Charles his honey lemon cake from here on out.

One of the foals sprints up the drive, excitement written in every line of their body. Energy and hyperactivity buzzing with every step. She loudly announces “He’s here! Erik’s Charles is here!”

Erik’s heart most certainly does not lurch at the mere mention of Charles’ name.

The entire herd shows up, even old Dalia who usually doesn’t give anyone the time of day and is the grumpiest mare that Erik has ever known. He’s convinced that given the sheer tenacity she displays she’ll be alive to witness the apocalypse.

Erik is pushed gently to the front of the herd where he has a better view of Charles coming up the drive. The car Charles owns is silver and similar in size to Edie’s car, although much sleeker and doesn’t make sputtering dying coughs. He has a smile on his face, not at all fazed by the audience that his arrival has garnered.

“Hello!” Charles says as he gets out of the car.

The herd is awfully quiet, a lot of them regarding Charles with eyes as wide as saucers. Erik gruffly wonders if they ought to have a gathering and speak about manners when guests arrive.

“Charles!” Erik greets, carefully rolling his chair forward. “You made it.”

“Of course.” The smile Erik receives is brighter than the sun in the sky. “Oh! Before I forget…” Charles opens the door to his car again and grapples for a minute with something before reappearing. In his hands is a plastic bag, a giant plastic bag filled with baked goods; Erik’s nostrils flare to breathe in the rich aroma.

“I wasn’t sure what to bring so I thought maybe you would appreciate the selection my local bakery has to offer? I hope I bought enough to share,” Charles offers a sheepish grin; the entire herd’s heart is won through their stomachs, a bond forged by the power of their love for chocolate chip cookies, madeleines and the delightful new discovery of mille-feuilles.

Edie graciously accepts Charles’ offering. “A pleasure to see you again, Charles. You really needn’t have brought anything with you...”

“It’s only a little something,” Charles smiles. “And I hear that if Erik’s family is happy, then he’s also happy.” The herd shuffles, a ripple of agreement flowing through the ranks. Charles certainly knew the secret of the herd’s hive stomach. Erik ought to be impressed.

“That’s very kind of you,” Edie says. “Take good care of our Erik for us, won’t you?” Her lightning quick reflexes slaps at the tiny wrists reaching to see what is inside the bag.

“Always,” Charles vows before turning to Erik. “Shall we get on then?”

Erik nods and slides gingerly into the passenger seat, watching as Charles quickly stows the wheelchair into the trunk. It’s scary how efficient Charles is at disassembling it, although unsurprising given Charles is a doctor and all.

The herd is torn between keeping an eye on the food in Edie’s hands and waving goodbye at Erik. At least his nephews, Ruthie’s twin colts Blake and Noah, were not amongst the more food-orientated of herd members.

“I’m going to take you shopping first before we go for lunch.”

“Why would you do that?” Erik asks, perplexed. He has no need for clothes during winter, and surely it’s not a habit he needs to start now.

“Well...” Charles says at length, dragging the vowel out. His eyes dart off the road for a quick second. He makes a vague sort of strangled noise that is in no way intelligible to Erik. “You’re… very distracting.”

“What?”

“Just, look at you. Hair in a braid. Bulging muscles everywhere. That jawline...”

Erik looks down at himself, perplexed. He sees nothing wrong with being muscular. A good leader to the next generations of foals will require a good example. He tells Charles as much. The nature around them are slowly replaced by modern lines and tall buildings.

“The least you can do is let me purchase you a shirt. Or anything that you like. The place we’ll be going to aren’t used to traditional centauri,” and this time Charles leers at him when his car rolls to a stop. “I for one wouldn’t mind seeing you like this, but I’m afraid others…”

What Charles is getting at is a classic case of mate possessiveness. The intense need to cover Erik up to save him from attracting anyone else. It’s so obvious when he pairs the approval Charles has shown for Erik’s musculature to the redness of his face that speaks of attraction. Erik knows there’s nothing to it but to make his mate happy.

“Of course, Charles.” Erik nods sagely, a smirk playing on his lips. “If that is what is required of me to save the delicate sensibilities of the city dwellers.”

“Good. As a doctor, I would have had to deal with the swooning populace, and that wouldn’t make for a very fun date.” Charles turns into what appears to be a building just for cars. Rows upon rows of cars all so still and silent. “I have a jacket here that can probably work until we get you a shirt of some description. And while you’re at it, keep an eye out for a free spot, won’t you?”

Charles’ jacket is warm: fleecy on the inside, and a shade of skyblue on the outside. The bonus is that it smells delightfully of Charles. On the outside it reads, well, Erik isn’t entirely sure for the letters are all upside down, but he makes a valiant effort in sounding them out in his head.

“I used to wear that jacket all the time when I was going through med school,” Charles informs him as he waits for an elderly lady to back out of her spot. “It’s the name of the university that I went to study what I do: Oxford University Medical School. The best six years of my life.” He says the last part wryly, as if it were a joke.

 _Oxford_ , Erik thinks as he tries to place it on his mental map. He’s not as widely travelled as uncle Erich or his parents, but judging from the sound of the location upon his tongue and Charles accent, it has to be somewhere British.

They make their way into the mall. “This is a place where all sorts of merchants come to peddle their wares, but in one convenient location for all the consumers,” Charles explains as he wheels them towards a store specialising in menswear.

“But how would I pay for all this?” Erik frowns. He would hate to be indebted to Charles when he ought to be the one providing for Charles all the time. He’ll have to find some way to utilize his skills in order to generate some form of income. Charles deserves all the nice things.

“I’ll pay. It’s just a shirt, and they aren’t that expensive. Plus it was my idea to take you out.”

“But—”

“No buts, Erik. I’m sure there will come a time when you can repay me. Perhaps a time when I visit your territory,” Charles says not unkindly. “For now, why don’t you pick something that you like and try it on?”

Erik tries not to pout, eventually acquiescing to Charles’ stubborn ways and turns his attention to the racks lined with an assortment of shirts in a variety of colours and fabrics.

He picks an article of clothing at random off the rack and begins to unzip the jacket. He’s halfway out of it when Charles makes a strangled gasping noise from behind him and is hastily stuffing him back into it.

“Erik! Not here!” Charles hisses, face going an alarming shade of red.

“But you said ‘try it on’?” Erik frowns. Is this another instance where he might offend the conservative eyes of people around him. So far, he’s only attracted the suspicious look of the shop owner.

“I meant the fitting rooms!” Charles carefully wheels him over to the area sectioned off just for trying on clothes and into a lit cubicle. “Let me know if you have any problems with putting it on. I’ll be right outside.” He tugs the drapery shut behind him, leaving Erik to struggle on his own.

After an arduous battle with his arms, Erik looks at himself critically in the mirror. He tugs at the fabric encased around his arms and tries a smile. It doesn’t look half bad and at least the fabric feels nice against his skin. It’s acceptable and fitted well. It shows off his defined muscles nicely and then maybe Charles will look at him even more. A solid plan it is.

“Charles. I want your opinion.” The curtains open with a quiet _snikt_ and then Charles’ reflection is taking him all in. “How does it look?”

“Polos. Good. Excellent choice. It looks… good on you..” Charles clears his throat, clearly taking in every aspect and every angle the three mirrors offered. “What do you like about it?”

“I like the colour,” Erik offers as he smooths his hands over the fabric that sits on his chest. It perfectly accentuates all of his hard work. Definitely assets Charles ought to be interested in. He folds Charles’ jacket in half and drapes it over his back.

Charles nods and says, “Alright then. We’ll go make the purchase.”

The shop owner doesn’t even bat an eyelash. He takes one look at Erik, gives an approving nod and then proceeds to ring up the purchase. “Have a nice day, sirs,” the man says disinterestedly.

Charles carefully wheels Erik through the mall, stopping at various windows to point out things Erik might like. For the most part, Erik glowers at the city folk that dare to gawk at him. Those with a good sense of self-preservation quickly look away.

“Where will we be going for food?” Erik asks. He has always been a bit wary of what life would be like outside of the hospital and the city. Where does all the food come from? The hospital must have a dedicated team of hunters in order to provide for the unwell. “I ought to have brought along a rabbit or a chicken to offset the amount of work to feed— Charles why are you laughing?”

“We don’t have to hunt for food. Where we are going is one of my favourite restaurants and there the food will be cooked and brought to us.”

Erik blinks, frowning in concern. “What do you mean? You don’t hunt for your own food?”

“Generally, no,” Charles wheels them past a supermarket where Erik can see an assortment of humans and centauri wander down aisles filled with bright coloured packages. “I suppose you can say that it comes pre-hunted for us.”

Erik twists at the waist to stare at Charles, his one-track mind coming to the fore. “So you have dedicated hunters?”

“Well,” Charles says, scratching his chin, “we call them farmers usually. They either grow vegetables or tend to livestock. Eventually the produce finds its way to supermarkets where we can use money to buy things. My favourite restaurant is called Aristocrat and there they take the vegetables and meat and cook it for us and then we pay money for this service. Ah! Here we are now!”

He’s still grappling with the concept of not having to hunt for food even when they’re seated comfortably at a table for two. It’s a quiet establishment with a number of tables dressed in white tablecloths. Upon them sat short white candles and a bouquet of orange flowers in a blue vase.

In front of him is a bunch of words and letters on a page. Erik can make out a few words: ‘beef’, ‘chicken’, and ‘potatoes’. But other than that he’s mostly lost. What in the Nine layers of Mortem’s Bedrock is a ‘foie gras’ or ‘pate’?

Erik swallows, only a little intimidated by all the fanciful words that appear all over the page.

 

 

“Have you— Do you need anything explained?” Charles asks. From the look on his face, Erik can tell Charles is concerned. No doubt he picked up on his bafflement.

Not wanting to appear like the uncultured centauri that Erik is, he smiles across the table instead. “You know what, I’m going to have what you’re having.” Erik has no idea what that can possibly be, but he implicitly trusts Charles’ choice in food. Surely, Charles wouldn’t order something poisonous.

“Well,” Charles looks down at the menu and then back up again, “alright then.”

The waitress, a petite pretty palomino mare, appears when Charles summons her. “Bonjour,” she greets them. “Vous avez choisi?”

Charles casts one last dubious look at Erik before turning his beautiful smiling face to her. What next comes out of his mouth is a blur of sexy sounds. “Je voudrais un Parmentier de confit de canard et un Epaule d'agneau confite aux épices pour lui. Merci.”

“Merci,” she replies as she collects their menus. “The food will be out momentarily.”

Erik takes her progress until she disappears from sight. "What did you order?"

"Duck and lamb, both of them are very good.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Erik says, dubious for he is used to a diet of rabbit and venison. “I’ve never had either of those before. Except chicken.”

Charles laughs, picking up his glass and taking a sip of water. “Did you like chicken?”

He contemplates it for a moment. “It was alright. A little bland but not bad.”

“I know some people that adore lamb, but others can’t abide by the taste.”

The food is excellent and eventually the afternoon wanes. Erik finds himself wishing he lived closer to Charles, the intense longing he had to spend more time with him. The car ride had not seemed particularly long; Erik is confident that it would be but a matter of minutes, if not a few hours, to find Charles’ abode on his own.

“Want to take a walk around the piazza?” Charles asks, pocketing his wallet into the leather pouch strapped to his foreleg.

The afternoon is pleasant and although Erik has no idea where or what a ‘piazza’ is, he agrees. Charles slowly wheels him over to a section of the mall that is lit by fairy lights. A fountain sits in the middle of of the circular courtyard, the bottom tiled in a mosaic of blues. There are a number of restaurants surrounding the perimeter with seating available for those that just wish to enjoy the cooling air. A clocktower stands proudly near the road, its golden face smiling down upon all the shoppers.

They wander up and down the length of the piazza before choosing to occupy one of the park benches with Erik parked right next to it. Charles makes himself comfortable and then tilts his head up to look at the twinkling fairy lights.

Erik takes his cue from Charles and stares up at the sky, frowning when he realises he cannot see the constellations above them even as the orange hue of sunset changes into the blues of the night.

“The stars are beautiful and clear,” Erik says, his voice low enough to be heard above the background conversations of the diners seated outside. “Although, it is hard to see here surrounded as we are by the lightfires. I should like to show them to you one day.”

“Star-gazing...” Charles says with a wistful grin. “I used to do that with my father back when I was still a colt. I used to live about a few hours drive from here and—well, it’s probably not as clear as what you are used to—but the views are spectacular. I used to remember what the constellations were when I stargazed with my father.”

The fondness is clear in Charles’ voice and it makes Erik wonder about what became of Charles’ herd. Charles hasn’t said much about his family, insofar that he has an adoptive sister who isn’t at home very often as her work as a fashion designer takes her out of the country.

They sit outside sharing idle conversation between them and enjoying the comfortable silence that grows. Wind travels over the surface of the fountain water and the ripples chase after one another until they reach the edges of the tiled pool.

Charles shivers. The wind is nothing compared the the blizzards during the winter; Erik silently passes back Charles’ jacket. “Perhaps we should go since you’re getting cold?”

The clock chimes and Charles gasps. “Is that the time already? We should probably leave. Would you like— that is, do you have to return home straight away? It’s gotten dark so quickly. Perhaps it’s an idea for you to come home with me—”

Erik grins, slow and wide. “When you put it that way…”

Charles stands up, stretching his arms over the top of his head. His hooves click on the tiled floor and Erik watches with avid interest as Charles’ shirt rides up over his abdomen. “What I meant is that you might end up getting into another car accident again,” Charles adds with a pointed look.

“And when you put it _that_ way, you make it sound like that’s all I ever do.” Erik’s lower lip juts out into a pout when Charles straightens out and the shirt slides back into place. “It was just once.”

“Still one time too many, Erik!”

The self-preservation part of Erik’s mind rises to a standing ovation — complete with party hats and confetti — as it agrees vehemently.

“Yes. Well…” Erik twists in the wheelchair. “I’m glad you think so too. I’m quite fond of my forelegs.”

“Insufferable,” Charles says with a wry grin as he pushes Erik back to the car.

The drive to Charles’ house doesn’t take long. Not that Erik had noticed much of the ride given that he had become enamoured by the freedom given over the radio channels.

Most modem centauri live in one storey bungalows or the ground level of apartment blocks. The doorways and pale green corridors of Charles' apartment are carpeted and wide enough for his wheelchair to get through. The edges of the ceiling are decorated in edging that resemble a tangle of odd white vines with handsome blue doors on either side.

"I'm sorry for the mess," Charles explains when he wheels them in. "But make yourself at home."

The inside of Charles' home is unlike what he had imagined. The first thing that Erik’s senses pick up is the biblichor. His sight is immediately overloaded by the stacks of books on every available surface. Lining the walls are floor to ceiling bookshelves, double stuffed and more books slipped into every available space, and still there were piles of books overflowing onto the carpet.

Erik is a stallion of simple tastes; a roof over his head and a belly filled with food is all he needs.  The centauri and humans that call the city ‘home’ enjoy large rooms in white. That, at least, Erik deduced from watching tele-venison using the mighty power of deduction (like that one investigator, consulting detective man and his sturdy stallion friend sidekick). Erik imagines had he grown up in the city his apartment would be sparsely furnished, an order hidden in simplicity.

“Can I offer you any tea or hot chocolate? I'm afraid thats all I have in the house right now.”

"Hot chocolate?" Erik asks. He's unfamiliar with this concept having only ingested chocolate in chocolate chip cookie format. To say he’s intrigued is an understatement.

Charles chuckles. “You've never had that before, have you? Alright then. Let’s get you comfortable on the couch and I'll be with you in a moment. You know how the TV works. I think I’ve a Star Trek DVD in the player right now. Feel free to resume play.” He disappears through the door on the left with a sharp click of his kitchen lights.

Erik looks forlornly at the mess on the coffee table, attempting to excavate the ree-moat out from underneath some books. It’s a near thing that the tower of books in the corner don’t topple over.

The tele-venison is harder to turn on than he last remembered. There must be over a hundred buttons on the ree-moat. It takes Charles returning to his side with two steaming mugs and pushing a select few magic buttons before the tele-venison greets them with a chipper toot.

“I don't suppose you know what Star Trek is?”

Erik shrugs. He's more interested in the mug that Charles presses into his hand, lifting it up into the light. The warmth radiates from the patterned ceramic, the palms of Erik’s hand soaking up the heat greedily as he reads: “Doctor will work for cupcakes”. He nearly scalds his tongue on the hot chocolate that must be liquid ambrosia from the Vallus.

 _This is valuable information_ his mind whispers. Keen observations of Charles’ likes and dislikes, after all, are the key to happiness and maintaining a healthy relationship.

“I want to rewind so you can watch the first episode,” Charles says thoughtfully as he looks at the box set in his hand. “But you're an intelligent centauri. I’m sure you can figure it out as I make up the guest room. I'll be back.”

He understood that this space concept is something about traveling through the galaxies. The spaceship looks so bizarre that Erik can’t focus on the narrative, hung up as he is by city life in general. How can a space ship manage to visit or go visit the final frontier when no one knows for sure truly if it ever ends. Even the humans and centauri that make up the crew of the Enterprise have no idea themselves.

He’s awfully piqued by the mating rituals though. It is obvious that the Vulcan centauri is interested in the human Captain. Erik contemplates the feasibility of performing something that elaborate — at least by his herd’s standards — in the confines of a ship out in the void of space.

Erik frowns at the television trying to reconcile his thoughts when Charles returns, settling in on the fluffy rug in front of the couch. He folds his bay legs neatly underneath his body and leans comfortably against the bottom half of the couch, close enough that Erik can smell the sweet scent of something fruity in Charles’ wavy brown hair.

He can't resist reaching out and running his fingers through Charles’ brown hair. It’s perfect, but breathtaking and almost worrying, how quickly he has come to care for this stallion.

Edie had always told him stories about the sort of love that happens once in a lifetime. Erik hadn’t ever paid any of those stories much mind as a young colt, dismissing the concept of love with the same sort of icky disgust that comes with getting mud caked in places where mud oughtn’t have any place being. But he had listened raptly to them all the same ensconced as he was in his hammock and Ruthie swinging from hers opposite him.

“One day, some human or centaur will make you feel like you are the luckiest thing. Your happiness will stop being about things that make you happy, and become things that make _them_ happy,” she had said. “Your father and I met during our Venator Trials… and something just sparked. He had been so confident, so sure that he would become a part of the Venator. It was that confidence that inspired me to do my best that day.

“Afterwards, he approached me, the ink of his tattoos still fresh. It was the first thing he did after Logan finished up with him. He’d been so afraid that I had left already. He had been so cocky during the Venator Trials, but I still remember,” Edie’s grin grows from fond to wicked, “he didn’t know the first thing about courting—”

“Ew, Mama! That’s gross and—”

“Stop interrupting, Erik!” A pillow had flown over from Ruthie’s side of the room and hit Erik square in the face.

Edie laughed at her children’s antics and she gracefully rose to her feet once Erik had sent his pillow back in retaliation. “Okay, okay. I think that’s enough for bedtime stories. But the love I had for your father has now turned into a different sort of love for the pair of you. And if neither of you behave, the Bestia will come for you in the night and take you away.”

There’s no denying that Erik is truly Jakob Lehnsherr’s son. Erik realises with a jolt that the sort of love that his mother had been talking about is the sort of thing that he’s experiencing right now..

He traces gently the shell of Charles’ ear with a finger and says matter-of-factly, “I could kill for you, Charles.”.

Charles turns at the waist, looking awfully alarmed. “As a doctor, I disapprove of this plan.”

“No. Not like that.”

“I— I don't understand, Erik.”

Erik wonders why Charles just doesn’t understand the old ways. Had his herd not taught him this? Individual herd rituals were differing, but the fundamentals were the same: providing a kill to an interested mate is all a part of that process.

“Something’s getting lost in translation, I feel,” Charles says quietly. “But this is important to you. If it truly is necessary to hunt down a deer or some other poor creature to secure my affections, then I would much rather you spared their life. For you see, Erik, my affections are already secured in that aspect.”

Charles leans in close and then there are lips against his own in a kiss. A kiss that ignites fire throughout Erik’s veins and sets off sparks in his mind. A kiss that definitely bears repeating, and often, and Erik is most definitely not swooning.

There's a handsome smile on Charles’ face, something that never fails to send Erik’s heart all aflutter. There’s a warmth that permeates every cell and pore in the warm and fuzzies, a notion that Erik had once thought absurd. But now, Erik is strangely content. Content with Charles’ hand in his, like that Vulcan mating ritual he’s observed and the significance of hand holding, and then steals another kiss before Star Trek reclaims Charles’ attention.

 

 

* * *

There are interesting clashes when attempting to court in this modern consumeristic setting, Erik discovers. There are more problems when it comes to dating St Mary's top orthopaedic surgeon.

He manages to circumvent the first by working for the Stark Industries, famous for making bows amongst other things. Erik can never afford a compound bow on his own. Firstly, they cost more money than he’ll ever make in the free time doing herd related activities. Testing them will never be enough. The thrill of the hunt is missing from being cooped up at a bow range, something that takes little adjusting without his hooves to anchor him. There is no satisfaction to be had shooting at a stationary target; his arms at least are glad for the familiar.

The second part is a little harder to accommodate.

Charles’ shifts at the hospital doesn’t afford them much free time to speak face to face. He doesn’t realize the pitfalls of dating an orthopaedic surgeon until Charles misses one of their dinner dates and calls him three hours later.  Charles couldn't tear away from his work. Not when there had been a terrible accident and the hospital required all its doctors to deal with the tragedy.

Erik had been disappointed at first but he understood. Charles may not be a part of a big herd like Erik, but the hospital was Charles' family and he had a duty to them.

He could have gone home then, even Charles had encouraged it since he himself didn't know what time he would be returning, but Erik stubbornIy stayed outside Charles’ front door until his dinner date became a breakfast date.

 

 

* * *

“Stop moving.” Erik scowls in the general direction of Charles’ face.

“You try that when someone else is holding what looks like an angle grinder near your legs.”

He can feel the way Charles rolls his eyes. “Oh stop being such a big baby. I’ve seen foals take this better than you. I swear you’ve become spoilt in the past eight weeks. And I know for a fact that it only tickles.”

“Perks of dating my doctor.” It does tickle though as the rest of his sentence is swallowed and replaced by the loud sounds coming from the machine in Charles’ hand. Erik can’t wait to feel the ground underneath his hooves again.

The cold air feels weird around his legs once the casts are both removed.

Charles runs a light latex-gloved hand over his legs. “I’m going to run a few tests and then we’ll go from there.”

Erik snorts. “You just want to grope me.”

“Ah,” Charles replies drolly as he carefully runs a hand over Erik’s leg. “I’ve been found out! Whatever shall I do?” In a more serious tone, he asks, “Any pain?”

“Have your wicked way with me?” Erik grins. He feels pretty sort of marvellous actually and shakes his head as Charles’ hand moves towards his hoof. As soon as he confirms that nothing hurts, Charles moves to stand by Erik’s head.

“What sort of stallion or doctor do you take me for? It will be some time before you’ll be able to stand up long enough for that.” The blush that blossoms over Charles’ cheeks is adorable.

Charles clears his throat. “I’ll be sending you on to Dr.McCoy and he’ll tell you the type of exercises that he’d like to see you do. Since you haven’t been walking for over eight weeks your muscles have atrophied. We’ll have to get you reaccustomed to walking again and then we’ll talk about… other activities.”

“So, no hunting then?”

“Most definitely not.”

In retaliation for this ban, Erik self-imposes by living at Charles’ house for the first week. He still feels like a young foal finding its legs for the first time; there had been a Hilarious Incident that had left Erik knocking over several stacks of books and almost left Charles with a heart attack.

The convenience of visiting Dr. Hank, owner of three Pee-Hatch-Dees, everyday also comes with other benefits.

For one, Erik gets to see Charles a lot of the time. He gets to learn all of Charles’ morning and evening habits and everything that comes in between. He’s aghast to learn that Charles doesn’t cook at all outside of making tea and hot chocolate, and sets to ensuring Charles has one full home-cooked meal in his stomach everyday.

“Whatever animal you cooked tonight tasted amazing,” Charles says after dinner and then promptly sneezes six times in succession.

Erik looks alarmed. “Gesundheit. Are you alright, Charles?” He hadn’t put in that much pepper into the rabbit and Charles ought to be able to taste the difference. That is a little worrying.

“Ugh…” Charles blows his nose into a tissue, wrinkling his nose adorably as if he were mid-sneeze. “I think I’m sick,” he says when the sneeze just doesn’t come and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Sounds like you caught a cold,” Erik observes like the Captain Obvious that he is. “I know a remedy or two for those.”

Charles clambers slowly to his hooves and begins to slowly stack the plates. “Does it combine some questionable plant matter together that taste like the gunk on the inside of my microwave?”

Erik stops Charles from moving the dishes and gently herds him onto the couch, tucking the afghan around Charles. “I thought a doctor had more sense to not lick questionable gunk inside popty-pings? Now stay here whilst I go do the dishes and make you something for your cold.”

“Popty-ping,” Charles mutters underneath his breath, then curls his legs closer to his body and the afghan tighter around his shoulders. “I almost regret telling you what microwaves are called in Welsh.”

Erik merely laughs hearing Charles sulk. Honestly, no centaur had business being that adorable.

He gathers his ingredients for his cold remedy: lemons, honey and tea all brewing away on the stove. Nothing remotely questionable about it at all. Completely pedestrian compared to some of the more… floral concoctions Edie has fed him over the years.

"I'm just going to mindlessly veg out on the couch and let you pamper me for a change."

Now that Erik can walk around again, he finds that he wants to do exactly that for his mate. Charles spends too much time not by his side, and works far too hard as it is.

Charles is dozing once Erik returns, his hair flopping all over his face. He reaches out and brushes them off Charles’ face, caressing the soft skin over Charles’ cheek. He looks so young with his face slack that it feels almost criminal to rouse him.

“Charles… Wake up, Charles. I need you to drink this and then we’ll get you to bed.”

“Whozzit?” Charles wheezes, looking blearily up at Erik as he struggles to sit up with a flail of his legs. The nap sounds like it did more bad than good with how scratchy Charles’ voice sounds.

“Don’t question it. Just drink it,” Erik urges. “I promise there’s nothing suspicious in this drink and it’s sweet.”

Charles brings the mug up dubiously to his face then takes a sip. It’s followed by a deep, satisfied sigh.

“I hate winter. I really don’t understand how you can go around wearing just a shirt,” Charles declares, grappling at the coffee table with a hoof to find the tissue box. “I apologise… I’m going to be absolutely no fun in the next few days once I get over this cold.”

He certainly isn’t feeling that poorly because Charles is leering rather appreciatively. The entire look is ruined though by Charles blowing his nose loudly into a tissue.

“I’d be a horrible herd leader and your mate if that’s why you think I”m here. I think you’ll do with a shower and then off to bed with you,” Erik declares, taking the empty mug when it’s handed to him. “I’ll come check on you when you’re out of the shower.”

Charles makes a pathetic noise before doing as he’s told, stripping out of his clothes along the way. A loud sneeze echoes off the walls.

Erik fixes Charles a second mug and finds Charles dozing on his feet in the shower a few minutes later. “Honestly,” he mutters fondly as he sets the mug on the bathroom counter and turns off the shower. He has Charles wrapped up a moment later in a giant fluffy towel and shepherds him gently into the bedroom..

“Stay with me?” Charles asks with a large yawn. Erik eases himself underneath the giant blanket and adjusts it around Charles’ shoulders.

“Of course. Now go to sleep.” With Charles pressing his face close and the warm soft blanket covering both of their forms, Erik tells himself that a nap would do them both good. Yes, just a nap.

 

 

* * *

It comes to Erik’s attention a month after he had his cast removed — and Dr.Hank has given him the clean bill of health — that he spends a lot of time with Charles at his home rather than Charles with the herd. It’s nice being surrounded by Charles, Charles’ scent, and Charles’ things.

But as the days go by, Edie had been quite insistent to remind Erik in bringing Charles up to the Venator Trials.

Charles had been apprehensive about going when Erik had broached the subject earlier. He felt like an intruder, having never been a part of a huge herd before, and he would hate to impose on such an important part of tradition.

Erik thought it was a great idea and set to whittle away at Charles’ defenses.

“You can bring someone along if it makes you feel better about going,” Erik says, shadowing Charles from his laundry to the sofa. “Perhaps that Raven I keep hearing about. Or even Dr.Hank. Please say you’ll come. This is important to me.”

Erik can almost taste the precise moment Charles’ resolve crumples, folding in on itself like a house of cards. It’s irresistible the way Charles shuffles his hooves and Erik leans over to steal a kiss.

“Hank… Hank would be interested in coming, I think,” Charles replies, a little breathless. “He’s always been far more invested in my centaur heritage than I myself. But would he be alright? I mean, he’ll possibly be the only human there.”

“The herds won’t hurt him. They’re just as likely to be as curious about Hank as he is about us. Don’t worry.” Erik rubs at Charles’ shoulders, settling in on the rug to help Charles fold the laundry (and that had been an ordeal in and of itself, learning the intricate ways of clothes-folding that doesn’t require stuffing said article of clothing inside a drawer). “If you’re really that worried, I can see if I can get one of the Summers boys’ to be his guide. In case he gets separated from us, of course.”

“I’d appreciate that. Let me just give him a ring now. When was your Vanator Trials again?”

“It’s Venator,” Erik corrects calmly, abandoning his struggle with folding his turtleneck and curls a hand around Charles’ foot instead, running his palms absentmindedly all along the black hair at the base. “Saturday.”

“Right.”

His hands slowly rubs a path upwards, a small test to see the obscure spots where Charles is sensitive. Charles’ leg twitches when Erik’s fingers teases the back of his knee.

“Stop that.” Charles’s tail flicks in Erik’s direction, whapping him across the shoulders in annoyance. “Hank? Hi! It’s Charles. I know this might sound strange but...”

That Saturday, Hank smiles nervously as he sits with his back straight between Erik and Charles. “You know—” Hank begins. His blue eye — a paler blue than Charles’ generous periwinkle ones, Erik decides — darts nervously between the two centaurs he’s trapped between. “—You really needn’t have invited me along… I would hate to impose upon your, erhm, your date. And please, Erik, call me Hank.”

“It’s fine,” they answer in unison, sharing an amused look over Hank’s head.

“The more the merrier,” Charles chirps from the driver’s seat. “This was actually Erik’s idea you know.”

“That’s awfully kind of you to remember me,” Hank says.

Erik nods gruffly, choosing to readjust the seat belt instead of going for a more verbal answer. He really didn’t know all that many centaurs outside of Charles, the herd and some of Stark’s employees.

The herd meets them at the crest of the hill, all expectant smiling faces and flower crowns in their hands.

"Such a welcome audience," Hank murmurs, a mix of awe and fear on his face. Erik’s oddly proud of his herd for having such an effect on his physiotherapist. Then again, Hank might just have a pollen allergy Erik isn’t privy to. "Aren't they cold? It's like the middle of bloody winter."

"It happened the last time I drove up to pick Erik up also." Charles sticks his hand out the window and waves. He parks the car next to Edie's. "How they manage it is beyond me, Hank."

"You get used to it. I'd have urged you both to go without were I not convinced you both might end up with frostbite," Erik replies with a snort of derision as he opens the car door. “Come on, the sooner we get the introductions over, the sooner we can leave.”

The herd takes to Hank with less enthusiasm than what they showed for Charles.

“Why’s he still wearing clothes?” the herd laments. Erik sometimes wonder how it has come to be a group effort in getting Charles naked. He wonders if he ought to be worried about that.

“He’s funny looking,” Noah, Erik’s youngest nephew, pipes up. Although Hank himself isn’t short — for a human, Erik begrudgingly admits — he’s about the same height as Noah.

“So are you,” Hank replies with a grin. And thus a beautiful friendship was born.

Blake, Noah’s twin brother, totters up and squints distrustfully up at Hank. He asks, “how’s he going to get there? Surely not with those.” And by ‘those’, Blake meant Hank’s legs. To be honest, Erik is concerned about whether Charles or Hank could catch up.

“I’m a fair runner so I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up with the herd,” Hank reassures them. “Why don’t you tell me all about these Venator Trials while we get there?”

And true to his word, Hank keeps up admirably well, even as they slowly draw to a halt at their first rest point. In fact, Erik squints, it looks like he barely worked up a sweat at all.

On the other hand, Charles pants heavily for breath beside him from the physical exertion. Snacks and water are passed around and Erik silently hands over his waterskin to Charles.

“I’m woefully out of shape,” Charles laments as he downs large gulps of water. He wipes his lips with the corner of his cardigan sleeve and passes the skin back. “Hank here runs marathons every other weekend. I have the body of a professor!”

“We’ll train you up yet,” Edie says with a kind smile. “Although we can probably afford to slow down just a little. The more haste, the less speed. Here, have some of the cookies Ruthie baked.”

Charles gladly inhales two, unabashedly taking one more to nibble on when they get moving again. Edie and Ruthie share a pleased look. There is one thing to be said about the Lehnsherr herd: they take pride in caring and feeding their herd well. Seeing as how this has extended to include Charles, Erik is immensely proud.

They stop again an hour later for another break, but quickly set off to reach their destination before sunset: an ancient glade on the border of Lehnsherr and Pryde territory. And there were centuari milling about putting up an assortment of tents, setting up their wares for trade and barter.

“The Venator Trials happen every two years, you see,” Blake says, tugging at Hank’s sleeve. “On the eve of winter’s solstice and lasts for about a week, give or take a few days. Of course, we don’t expect you to stay for the entire thing since it gets boring pretty fast...”

“But, it’s the most important rite of passage for any young centauri! You know, aside from finding your mate,” Noah pipes up with a sly grin at Erik’s direction. “And every year, the Trials are different. It’s always set by old stallion Logan.”

“He’s the real reason we even have Venator Trials in the first place. I’ve heard rumours that he spends both years coming up with new ways of maiming the Venator candidates… But Noah and I are still too young to participate yet,” Blake says with a pout.

Erik pretends he hasn’t heard or seen his nephews being little shits. That’s their default state and he has long since learned to tune them out when necessary. “I want no funny business from you two. Charles and Hank are my guests and if I see either of them harmed—”

“— You’ll leaves us hanging from the old tree by our tails,” they chorused. “We know, Uncle.”

No sooner did he finish speaking when a young Pryde mare approaches them with a summons from Logan. No doubt the old stout centaur wanted to gloat about his latest test.

“Speak of the devil,” he mutters underneath his breath and pecks Charles’ cheek.  A group giggled loudly in the vicinity, but Erik paid it no mind as he follows her.

Logan is just as he remembers him: a lit cigar dangling out one corner of his mouth, muscles bulging in every direction — how Logan achieves this continues to be a mystery to all; some say Logan’s favourite pastime is chopping down trees with his bare hands — and a pair of glistening bagh nakhs strapped to his waist.

“Lehnsherr. Good to see you haven’t died on me.”

“Is it really?” Erik asks wryly, greeting the other herd leaders as he takes his place next to Piotr, the dappled grey behemoth of a leader from the Rasputin herd.

“Who else is going to clean up this year’s carcasses, if not for you?” Logan exhales a large plume of smoke and graces everyone with his best shit-eating grin. “Not that I would do that to any of your precious babies, of course.”

“Lies! I remember my Venator trials! You nearly beheaded someone with one of your traps!”

“Yeah, and my Ma sometimes tells me of the time parts of the forest were on fire!”

Logan doesn’t seem entirely nonplussed by this revelation, almost disappointed that he hadn’t succeeded in some potentially death-inducing tasks. “There’s always next time,” he brightly announces. “Like this one...”

The meeting itself is a formality — a token thing to reassure the leaders that the Venator candidates from each respective herd would not come to harm… or at least not _too_ much harm. Everyone who had survived previous Venator Trials were dubious.

“Lehnsherr, will you be joining this year’s surveillance?” Logan asks at the conclusion of the meeting.

“Haven’t you heard?” Remy from the Lebeau herd asks slyly with a waggle of his eyebrows. Erik’s never really liked Remy. “He’s found himself a mate. A city centaur if my sources are to be trusted.”

A ripple of excited murmurings spreads like wildfire.

“Congratulations are in order?”

“I don’t count my chickens before they hatch,” Erik says quietly, trying to quell the small fluttery ball of euphoria inside of him when thinking about Charles, lost cause or not. “But I sincerely hope to be able to accept them someday soon. I’ll be showing him and his friend around to see the stalls and customs.”

Logan grunts and waves the cigar in Erik’s general direction. “Get outta here then.”

Not being someone who needs to be told twice, Erik leaves the circle. He’s feeling oddly bashful about having news like that flaunted around — and from the looks of things, if Remy of all people has heard it then no doubt the entire centauri community has caught wind of it too.

He’s not surprised to find Hank and Charles surrounded by curious, well-meaning centauri from a variety of different herds.

“What’s a human doing here?” a filly whispers.

The mare next to her shrugs. “I heard he’s the guest of the Lehnsherrs’! Did you know, Lehnsherr is meant to have found a mate?”

“What?! But that was going to be me!” the filly laments with a pout.

“I know, dear. I know.”

And then someone with a raspy voice hollers, “Someone fetch Logan! You there, go see if you can find him! This has to be a violation of some sort of ancient law!” A colt breaks away from the herd.

Erik frowns, unable to pinpoint the exact centaur. _Probably someone ancient and who spent too much time with their head far up their ass,_ he reasons with narrowed eyes. _If I find out exactly who, they’ll have a piece of my mind._

He elbows his way to the front of the crowd and then folds his arms, glaring menacingly at anyone who dares. “What’s going on here?”

Charles places a gentle hand on Erik’s forearm and pets the skin there. “No no, it’s alright. They are all lovely and nothing too untoward has happened—”

“— Someone pinched my bottom, Charles! —” Hank protests, yelping again when another old mare does it again with an unrepentant cackle.

“I can see why they would,” pipes up, and this is surprising to Erik, as Logan approaches with the colt by his side. “You didn’t mention that your mate brought a friend along, Lehnsherr.”

Erik shrugs. “I was unaware that we had restrictions, Howlett. And given how fast information appears to move in the herds, I imagined everyone to have known by now.”

Logan shrugs. “I have no problems with the human being here—”

“Excuse me! My name is Dr.Henry McCoy and I would appreciate it if you all addressed me as Hank, please.”

His little outburst sent a ripple of murmurs throughout the centauri already gathered. “— Sorry, _Hank_ ,” Logan amends. He pauses for a long moment, a curious sort of expression on his face. “The Venator Trials are about to begin. If you would be interested in accompanying me, I can tell you more about it although I’ll be out there—” And here Logan jabs his chin in the direction of the forest surrounding them “—keeping an eye on things.”

“Oh! Um.”

Erik’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. Logan offering to spend time with someone? That’s an earth-shattering surprise for the centaur that spends every other year as a hermit. Well. Curiouser things have happened.

Like Hank agreeing and blushing when Logan signals for Hank to get on his back. Everyone watches with a sense of morbid fascination as Logan stalks off.

“What just happened?”

Charles nods sagely and replies, “a very beautiful thing.” But even Charles looks at least a little alarmed. “Will he be alright though?”

“Howlett won’t hurt him.” Too much anyway, Erik thinks wryly. He flashbacks to a time when he had been a young colt just about to begin his own trials. A shiver runs down his spine just recalling that week alone. “At least, I don’t think Hank is in any immediate danger.” Charles looks less than convinced.

Just then a horn sounds, low but loud, sending the now distracted herd tittering away. The first horn is a warning that the trials were about to begin.

“Come on.” Erik gamely takes Charles’ hand, warm and smaller than his own, and gently tugs him in the direction of the large corral. “We’ll miss the beginning otherwise.”

They manage to squeeze into a spot where Charles had a decent view of the now empty corral. Excitement builds all around them as conversations and hushed predictions are exchanged.

At the second horn, two of the LeBeau Venator lead this year’s candidates into the ring and at that the clapping, hoof stamping and whistling escalates in volume. Erik points out as many of the colts and fillies that pass by to the best of his abilities.

And then Logan, sans Hank, enters the corral being flanked by two mares. The one holding the engraved horn Erik recognises as his Aunt Valeri who now resides with the Cassidy herd. He scratches at his chest right underneath the markings on his chest and motions for all the candidates to stand in a line in front of him. Erik had once joked as a colt that he never quite expected _the_ Logan of Venator renown and badassery could be quite so _short_.

She brings the horn to her lips and blows again, the sound so clear now that they were in a closer range. The spectators slowly quieten as the Venator trials finally begin.

"Welcome one and all," bellows the red roan Erik doesn’t recognize that makes some of the participants shrink and shuffle awkwardly. "But more importantly, welcome to our young colts and fillies that are attempting the trials this year." Logan shoots them a wide terrifying grin as a mean way to unnerve them.

“As you all know, the Venator trials are designed to test your wits and your skills. Those that manage to clear the trials will be welcomed amongst the Venator and those that do not manage to clear it this year will be welcomed to try again in two years time. Please step up when your name is called.”

She goes through a list of names. Each of them carry their weapon of choice. All of them sport expressions of apprehension and weariness, excitement and also dread flowing through their veins. Erik can relate.

“If you'll all follow Logan, he'll lead you to the starting position. This is the last time you’ll be seeing your family for some. Make them proud and earn your place amongst us.”

Everyone cheers as the candidates trail after Logan and the gate is closed with a final thunk. The crowd slowly disperses. Some head to their respective camps, others head to the section reserved for the section dedicated as the Venator Bazaar with an assortment of stalls and wares for sale.

“So what happens to them after?” Charles asks, allowing Erik to tug him in the direction of the latter. “I mean all of it sounds terribly ominous and distressing!”

“She doesn’t really mean it,” Erik explains. “It’s just a tactic to rile them all up to get them to pay more attention to their surroundings. I think the wording at my trials was something like: ‘good luck but the wilderness can kill you so don’t die.’ See? Perfectly normal and completely sound advice.”

The dubious look Charles sends him says otherwise. Maybe Charles’ delicate city sensibilities had been offended again.

“Oh, come now,” he sighs. “It’s not that terrible. We’ve got teams making sure they aren’t hurt too badly. They’re perfectly safe just as long as they don’t actually fall off a cliff or something equally as stupid.”

“Surely they have more common sense than that?”

“That’s difficult to say. Colts and fillies usually aren’t filled with much sense, no matter centauri or human. Now come let me show you the Venator Bazaar. The best part of this place is the honey lemon cake. The Pryde herd makes the best and you aren’t going home without some. We don’t use money like you do in your world, but we barter with trades and services. And after two years of saving up, we have plenty of things to barter with.”

They wind up at the section dedicated to the Lehnsherr herd. There Uncle Erich and Edie were in the midst of getting things organized and ready.

It’s incredible that for such a small amount of space, there are so many colourful stalls. Centauri flit in and out of each one, all of them transformed into the young foals they all are at heart. Everywhere Erik looks, there are centauri mingling and catching up.

“Now that your mother has included everything but the kitchen sink,” Charles says, indicating to the basket filled with some woolen goods and Ruthie’s cookies Edie had filled before sending them on their way. “I even think there’s an actual knife in there!”

A pair of woolen legwarmers and two colourful scarves gets traded for a gilded silver cup made by Jubilation’s skilled hands; Jubilation graciously accepts the cookie pressed into her hand by Charles. As Erik and Charles continue to walk through the Bazaar, cookies are being distributed to anyone who shows an interest in one. And the shopkeepers in turn reward Charles’ generosity with little trinkets: a handmade notebook, a crocheted bag, a jar of honey and a windcatcher.

“This is wonderful, Erik.” Charles whisks around, his basket laden with an assortment of goodies that he had received by showing a good head for trading (although Erik is convinced most of it had been Charles’ charm and genuine wide-eyed curiosity at the smallest of wares). “But I think I’ve seen more than enough of the Bazaar for now,” Charles declares just as they exit out of a LeBeau stall, “now you must show me these honey lemon cakes you keep telling me all about.”

Theresa Pryde spots them coming from a mile away with her hawk-like eyes that twinkle with mirth. She dusts her hands and flaps her apron. “Ah, Erik! My favourite customer. I baked an extra cake just for you. Let me go fetch it for you, free of charge to share with your beloved.”

“Mrs. Pryde,” Erik nods, a wide boyish grin on his face. “I’m not physically able to refuse such an offer!”

Theresa chortles loudly, rounding the table with one of her famed honey lemon cakes in hand, wrapped up in butcher’s paper tied up with twine. “Here we go.” She places the package into Charles’ basket.

“We must trade you for it.” Charles turns to look at Erik. He gives a nod in solidarity.

Theresa would hear none of it. “No no. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you and your dearest soon. Now off you go and enjoy that between the two of you before the fireworks start.”

In the face of how adamant she is about it, they both folded like a house of cards and set off to find a grassy spot to enjoy the cake between them. It’s difficult to find a spot secluded enough just for the two of them.

Erik drops down on the springy grass first, tucking his hooves in underneath him and then taking a hold of Charles’ basket. He can’t help but be awed as he watches Charles settle down beside him, wriggling so that their black and bay coats are pressed together in one warm line.

They share the cake quietly amongst the stars and then a kiss just as the fireworks go off. Erik can’t think of any better way than to spend the night with his favourite things and the taste of sweet lemon upon Charles’ tongue.

 

 

* * *

In the blink of an eye, two months pass since the conclusion of the Venator Trials (Hank safely returned after an eye-opening night).

Erik is cleared to return to his Venator duties, although he finds that his focus wavers; the animals that live in the surroundings are thankful for it.

Charles spends a weekend living with them after Erik convinces him to spend some time getting to know his family. It’s a wonderful affair (minus the herd trying to de-clothe Charles and place flower crowns on his head all of the time; clearly this is a job reserved only for Erik!).

 _Everything is perfect_ , Erik thinks as he watches Charles drowse off against his shoulder. _This is the stallion I want to be with._

Except that notion is blown out of the water by Charles a week later.

 

 

* * *

It begins with the words: “I haven’t been entirely forthright with you, Erik.”

Erik feels his entire heart drop into the very depths of his stomach. He stifles the anguished cry upon his tongue with great difficulty. “W-What?” His tongue feels like it has grown several sizes in his mouth and it’s getting harder and harder to _breathe_.

They’re sitting outside at a park near Charles’ apartment. Erik’s wearing the dark sweater that Charles bought him that morning and he hasn’t taken it off since. The weather is cold and a passing breeze shakes the leaves upon the branches with a rustle.

When Charles doesn’t answer straight away, Erik’s mind is sent into overdrive. “Did I do something wrong? Do you not like being with me?”

Charles’ eyes widen. “No! That’s not it at all! It’s been a blessing meeting you, Erik. You have been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. There’s somewhere that I would like to show you. The place where I grew up as a young colt.”

“I don’t understand?” Erik had always assumed Charles had grown up in this city.

“It’s an... important place to me,” he explains, fidgeting with a leaf in his hands. “I should like for you to see it because _you’re_ important to me. But it’s not anything special and I’d understand if you didn’t want to. I mean, it is a little far and a bit of a drive... but I’ve had someone clean it up and they’ve recently finished...”

“Oh. No, no. I should like to see the place where you grew up, Charles.” Erik nods, feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside at being Charles’ important something. “When were you thinking of going?”

“I was thinking perhaps tonight after dinner, or is that too soon?”

Erik smiles and shakes his head, reaching over to cover Charles’ hands with his. “No. That’s perfect. We’ll go after dinner.”

The drive to the place that Charles referred to as Westchester is much longer than any drive Erik’s accustomed to, conducted in silence broken only by songs and advertisements on the radio. Charles keeps his eyes firmly on the road, lips pulled taut as he concentrates on driving. He’s tense in a way that Erik’s never seen before — and Erik has dedicated a large portion of his time observing (read: admiring) Charles in a variety of different scenarios.

Something that Erik couldn’t quite place a finger or a hoof on is bothering Charles. He flounders in an attempt to figure out what is wrong or how to broach the subject and so he settles for making conversation as a way of distraction.

“We’re here,” Charles tersely comments finally, cutting Erik’s long ramble about bow technology to a grinding halt. The gate they're stopped at is of some dark cast iron make and looked terribly imposing. Erik wonders if this is the Westchester Charles was talking about.

"That's Westchester?" Erik asks, sizing up the gate. “Whoever you hired to clean it didn't do a very good job."

"What?  No thats just the gate." Charles manages a wry smile. "Westchester awaits."

When the house-castle comes into view, it’s a close thing that he doesn’t press his face against the glass. The garage where Charles parks the car is immense and Erik has never seen that many cars unless it is at a shopping building.

“Are all of these yours?” Erik asks, nearly hitting his head on the open car door in his awe. In his time spent in the city, Erik has come to recognize those that were considered ‘bombs’ like his mother’s old rusting junkbucket (as Uncle Erich fondly likes to refer it as) and the luxury cars like the ones seated in the garage as far as the eye can see.

“My father’s,” Charles corrects as he gracefully gets out of the car. “He liked collecting them and mother was always pleased when he took her out for a spin. Come, I’ll show you the old place.”

The history of the house astounds Erik. Every wall had a tapestry or painting of some Xavier descendent or another, and each room was well furnished with lavish chaise lounges and velvet everything.

“Have you ever wanted children, Charles?” Erik cuts in during one of Charles’ long and rambling lectures about some important lamp. Normally, Erik would take to heart Edie’s lesson about how interrupting someone whilst talking was extremely rude, but Charles seemed awfully subdued and not at all like the stallion Erik fell in love with.

“What?” Charles blinks.

“I have. Ever since I was a colt, I’ve always envisioned myself with many. Teach all my foals ways to defend themselves.”

Charles looks down at his feet, hooves shuffling upon the rich carpet. “Oh. But I can’t… Male centaur pregnancy rates are low and even with modern technology, the foal might never make it past their first birthday.”

“But then I met you and everything changed.” Erik presses in close, tilting Charles’ chin up with a gentle finger as to stare into Charles’ eyes that glow like jewels in the moonlight.

“Erik…”

“I love you, Charles. And I want to spend every hour, every minute, with you. I want to kiss you, hold you, and cook for you. You complete me, Charles, and will you do me the honour of becoming mine for—”

The rest of Erik’s impassioned love speech is swallowed by Charles’ mouth pressed against his own in a blazing kiss.

“Yes,” he whispers into the breath they share. “Come, I want to show you the grounds. I did promise to stargaze with you, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

The grounds of Westchester are just as opulent as the house that represents it. The moon is full in the cloudless smudge of charcoal sky; the stars twinkle brightly overhead.

Without warning Charles takes off at a full gallop down the gravel drive and veers quickly onto the grass, headed straight towards the glistening lake in the far distance. Erik makes haste, chasing after Charles, impressed by Charles’ speed and distracted by the way Charles’ dark tail flicks from side to side and the way his penis is already unsheathed.

Oh...

Oh!

Well then!

Erik licks his lips, feeling his penis stir within his prepuce his own tail raised high like a flag as it flickers with interest. Had Charles been apprehensive about this moment? Had he been working up the courage for this final act of love between them?

He keeps his eyes firmly on Charles’ flank, mesmerised by the furtive glances Charles casts over his shoulder and the twin spots of colour on his cheeks before putting on an extra burst of speed and running away. Erik throws his braid over his shoulder and takes off after him.

They do a lap of the lake until Charles disappears into a small clearing. Erik nearly runs past were he not so intently focused on Charles. He slows down to a trot and then walks the rest of the way, getting an eyeful of Charles’ bay behind and the long naked line of his exposed back. His sweater quickly joins Charles’ pile of clothes.

“Charles?”

“Erik. This is the Xavier’s breeding clearing.”

“Are you—”

“Yes. Please, Erik.” Charles’ tail flicker to the side, held out of the way and putting his hole on display.

He walks the rest of the way in, rearing up onto his hind legs. Charles sways underneath Erik’s weight, keening as Erik’s forelegs clamps down against his sides. With no where else to go and having sufficiently mounted Charles, Erik shifts his footing and makes himself more comfortable, his arms encircling Charles’ shoulders.

“Are you—” Erik would hate to hurt his mate in his haste, his eagerness to show Charles the breadth of his love for him.

“Yes, Erik! I’m fine,” Charles says exasperatedly, “would you get on with it already?”

It took a few decent attempts before his long thick length slid inside Charles’ heat, inside Charles his _mate_. They hiss in unison when Erik’s hindquarters gently thrusts, allowing Charles time to get used to the curious sensation. Curling protectively around his mate, Erik leans over and seeks out his cherry red mouth, his tongue thrusting inside once found.

Nothing could have prepared Erik for the exquisite tightness all around him, all of Charles’ warm muscles squeezing periodically and coaxing Erik closer to his peak. He had wanted to make their first time special, take it nice and slow. But instincts are difficult to ignore and at his mate’s impatience, makes it an impossibility.

Erik keeps a possessive hand around Charles’ throat as he finally gives in, hindquarters giving powerful thrusts into Charles. Sweat makes Erik readjust his footing and position, a huff of impatience floating past Charles’ ear when his penis slips out.

The back of Charles’ neck smells heavenly, rich and earthy with a hint of the green apple shampoo Charles uses to wash his hair. It calms him as Erik mounts Charles again.

Charles moans loudly, fingernails digging into Erik’s forearms. There was little else for Charles to do but to take it, brace himself against the earth and the grass until Erik finally stopped frantically thrusting.

“So good,” Erik says. “So very beautiful, my Charles.” He bites down into Charles’ shoulder and lets out a guttural groan as he fills Charles with his seed for the very first time. The grass under Charles splattered with pearlescent white.

They pant heavily in counterpoint, a light breeze sending a chill down their spine. Erik doesn’t want to slip out yet, nuzzling at Charles’ ear, but he can feel his flaccid penis slowly retreat back into its sheath.

“Yours,” Charles sighs softly, fingers relaxing now that post-orgasmic lethargy takes place. “Let’s head back up to the house. I’m in the mood for cuddling, and if you can manage it, a second round.”

 

 

* * *

“How am I going to break this news to the herd?” Erik bemoans, burying his face into Charles’ sweaty shoulder. They lay in the dark of Charles’ childhood bedroom, hearts still racing after they had rutted again in the bathroom.

Charles’ fingers curl around Erik’s and squeezes, satiated and amused. “I have a feeling that they already know. But the fact remains, now that we are effectively engaged, how should we get married? Are there any traditions that I ought to be aware of?”

Erik wriggles in close, blanket tucked in underneath his chin. “How about having our wedding here at Westchester? There’s plenty of space and—” a huge yawn breaks his sentence, “—that might actually be a terrible idea. The herd might never want to leave.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Charles chuckles and leans over to kiss Erik’s forehead. “Go sleep, stallion of my heart.”

 

 

* * *

[ **Epilogue** ]

"Erik!" Charles called out. "I've run out of tea! Would you mind fetching me some?" He could hear Erik clip-clopping away in the kitchen. It wouldn't be any trouble surely and he was already far too comfortably seated in front of the fire on the fluffy rug with his favourite book in hand.

"You lazy ass!" Erik replied, a hint of fondness in his voice.

“I’m pregnant with your foals. That's plural! What did you expect? I expect you to wait on me hand and hoof until they’re ready to come out.”

There was the sound of more clanging about and the tap running. "I've put the kettle on! Is there anything else you need?"

“A biscuit wouldn’t go amiss!”

“Which ones?”

“The shortbread, I think, yes. And the raspberry shortcake! And also bring me the tub of peanut butter too!”

Charles snuggles in with a smile, shifting his hind leg into a more comfortable position on the rug as he read his novel and waited for Erik to be done with the dishes before resuming their ritual chess game. He’s gotten huge and if he couldn’t bully Erik now, then when could he?

Speak of the devil, his husband clops into view a few minutes later, a tea towel slung over his flank, and a tea-tray laden with goodies in his hands.

"Thank you, love..." Charles murmured, reaching out to brush his fingers over the back of Erik's hand. The longer he spent in front of the fire, the sleepier he got. It had been a long day looking after the foals of the Lehnsherr herd. Ever since they had gotten wind of Charles’ pregnancy, they had all insisted in staying. It would explain the small centauri camp that seemingly sprung up overnight on the lawns.

"Come join me?"

Erik smiled down indulgently, the type of smile that made the edges of Erik's eyes crinkle and softened the harsh lines around his mouth. "I'll go put the kettle away first." But Charles was insistent that Erik join him, pulling now at the sleeve of his turtleneck and aiming the most pathetic set of eyes Erik had ever seen on a centaur.

"The kettle will keep."

With a soft sigh, Erik set the kettle on one of the table ends and carefully moved over to settle in by Charles' side, mindful of stepping on Charles' bay hooves. "Honestly, one would think you'd grow out of using pathetic foal eyes in order to get your way," he chided quietly. "Stop horsing around."

"Not that you'd be able to resist anyway. I know how you adore it, but I won’t have you look at any other mare or stallion whilst I’m like a huge balloon.." Charles cuddled in close, throwing the afghan he'd been using over both of their flanks, leaning back far enough to ensure that Erik's glistening black coat was covered properly. He'd never gotten over how beautiful Erik looked in the fire light, and ran an appreciative hand over Erik's withers, fingers just teasing underneath Erik's turtleneck at the place where skin and coat transitioned.

"I would never," Erik agreed easily, his tail flicking once before settling in as he tucked his feet in underneath him. “You’ll always be the centaur of my attention.”

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Fanfic Translation**  
>  Thanks to the talented [analgisia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analgisia/pseuds/analgisia) who has translated this fic[into Chinese](http://singleness.lofter.com/post/23f9e6_5e3c722)!!
> 
>  **Translations**  
>  \- French  
>  _Vous avez choisi?_ You have chosen?  
>  _Je voudrais un Parmentier de confit de canard et un Epaule d'agneau confite aux épices pour lui. Merci._ I would like a duck confit parmentier and a shoulder of lamb with spices for [Erik]. Thank you.
> 
> \- German  
>  _Na, dann sei aber vorsichtig, wenn du an ihm naschst._ But be careful when you eat him like candy.
> 
>  **Thanks**  
>  First and foremost thanks to **GQD** for putting up with me! I couldn't have done this without you.  
>  Thanks also to **ang3lsh1** and **ourgirlfriday** for consistently harassing me to write and providing word wars; **imasyon** and **traumschwinge** for providing both French and German translations for things; **ebonytavern** for doing a final read through. Any lingering mistakes are my own.


End file.
